


A Wolf In Sheep's Skin

by Dovahgame2099



Series: The Wolf, The Bandit, And The Blade [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Child Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:22:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahgame2099/pseuds/Dovahgame2099
Summary: Cain Arellius has battled with his inner Beast for over twenty years, now, he often finds himself asking the final question: How far will he go to slay the Wolf within?





	1. 'On Lycanthropy As Told By One Such Afflicted' By Adonato Leotelli

**Author's Note:**

> So, about half a year ago I decided that I was going to begin writing in the 'F.E.A.R.' Universe, though I suppose I wasn't really in the correct mind-set to write something of that calibre, thus, I have decided to write a four-part series on a few characters that I have created over the years whilst playing 'The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest Book by renowned Author, Adonato Leotelli.

**'On Lycanthropy As Told By One Such Afflicted'**

**(Not to be Mistaken by a similar work by Varnard Karessen: 'On Lycanthropy')**

**By:**

**Adonato Leotelli**

Many of the learned amongst my dear readers have no doubt heard of Lycanthropes; beings that change from Man, Mer, or indeed, Beastfolk, into decidedly feral, animalistic hunters with a lust for blood and flesh; indeed their haunting tales are considered amongst the most fearsome, yet, just mere days ago, I was faced with the most unassuming, most unremarkable being I believe I have ever laid eyes upon to have (So he claimed) the Blood of the Wolf nestled inside his veins.

It seems he was indeed a visitor to the City of Windhelm, and from my first assumptions he did not seem to be accustomed to the harsh winters of Eastmarch, (of which I have detailed the full extent in my previous work, 'Ghosts In The Storm'), as his body quaked with all the ferocity of indeed, a wild animal. I noticed he placed himself rather without heed to others, squarely in front of the central fire in Candlehearth Hall; he did this for a while, then went about the business of the usual wanderer, scanning the room and such. It was only moments later, when he had begun to approach me, and I, not one to appear unwelcoming, greeted him, expecting him to smile, wave or meekly nod his head and continue on, though, instead, he sat down next to me, and said, in a hushed tone, "I hear you know about Werewolves." How was one supposed to calculate such an unusual and out of place remark? I simply asked him to repeat the question, which he did, and thus I surmised he was referring to children's tale I had wrote over fifteen years ago 'The tale of Gladius and the Wolf-Man: A Cautionary Tale for Youngsters', which was published only in Bruma, as it was one of my first works, and yes, whilst I was required to do a small amount of research to create a vivid enough image to frighten misbehaving children, I would never have believe it would merit any individual branding me as someone who "Knows about Werewolves".

No matter, the man looked troubled, and what sort of honest Imperial turns down a man in peril? In this case, I decided to indulge this odd fellow, and clarified that my knowledge was limited, and subject to slight embellishment, to which the man disagreed, saying that the part in which the 'Wolf-Man' tears apart a whole orphanage of extremely misbehaving children is not within the realms of fiction, and has, in fact occurred in some shape or form, and I suppose the man was simply trying to state that Werewolves are, indeed ferocious and feral, but my mind could not help but wonder: 'What was he trying to say?'

Then it came. 

The words that formed the catalyst for this book.

"I am one of those monsters, a Werewolf."

Immediately, this unremarkable man had piqued my curiosity, he was one such afflicted? Could it be that I were to uncover secrets never before known? Yes, Dear readers! Yes again!

The man had me swear an oath of secrecy, that did not, mind you, entail that I was not to write down what he told me, it was simply to disregard his name, appearance, and, later, his destination, which, as you can see, I have honoured.

We began by moving closer to the corner of the Tavern to talk in more inconspicuous conditions, then he began:

As a young boy, he lived in Leyawiin, his father was an Imperial Legionnaire who never returned from battle; he had gone to fight in 'The Great War', and thus, only his mother could care for him. Unfortunately, as history tells, Leyawiin was among the first to be razed to the ground by Altmeri Dominion forces, due to it's distance from the Imperial City. He recalled that mass evacuations took place into the surrounding Blackwood Forest, in which he and his mother were separated due to the frenzied crowds, and so he found himself within a cave surrounded by, according to his approximations, around twenty or thirty individuals.

He told me that he remembers the thunderous march of the Dominion forces, and the palpable terror that all present exhumed, and it seems, that the terror drove them deeper into the caverns, for fear of their group being uncovered and subsequently put to death. Whilst the sounds of the Advancing army remained outside, a new, equally terrifying prospect appeared before them in audible form: A deep, guttural growl, or as he described it, "A feral roar alchemised with the pained and guttural screams of a man; a beast, but not quite so." Some of the already Irked survivors could simply not handle the fear, and so they fled out of the caves, and as a result those whom remained heard the faint whistle of arrows through the air that then abruptly stopped, likely hitting their unfortunate marks. However, those who chose to stay were seemingly in a worse place than those who met their end at the tip of an Altmeri Arrow, as immediately, those aforementioned roars increased in both length, and ferocity, and, as he stated: "Before any of us were able to move, the stuff of my subsequent nightmares was set upon us; the men were the first to die; I suppose the monster saw them as the most immediate threat, as it managed to sever three of their heads with one damned strike of its' claws, I was thrown backwards by its' forearm, and I must of concussed myself upon the cavern walls, as my recollection of the rest, is fairly blurred." He surmised that the women were the next to meet their bloody doom, "Like poor lambs to the slaughter", he had remarked, then told me how the beast ripped apart one of his best friends who was seven years of age at the time, as was he. The beast then decided, the stranger had said: "To savour his last meal, and inflict as much pain as possible." before finally having the 'glories' of devouring the boy's flesh and organs, he then recalled that the pain was much akin to a knife-wound, albeit quantified over a thousand times, and far deeper and bloodier, it seems the tooth and claw of a Lycanthrope are not precise weapons in the slightest, as the wounds had passed the testament of time, as he showed me the result of the attack; deep, red scars all across his body, though it could be suggested he is simply a madman, and that these wounds were self-inflicted or the result of some other trauma, though for reasons later highlighted, I do not believe this to be the case.

The boy was driven to deathly unconsciousness due to the pain, but can vaguely recall the sound of the Altmeri soldiers entering the cave, which prompted the Beast to flee. It was indeed lucky that the boy had passed into unconsciousness, as the Dominion would have surely ended his life, possibly as an act of mercy.

Whilst he told me that he could not recollect the following events first-hand, he was later informed by the priests of the following events:

Around four or five hours subsequent to the attack, a small contingency of Legionnaires entered the caves, in search for survivors, and discovered the boy, half-dead, and later took him to the Imperial City, which was, at the time of 4E 171-174, a haven for refugees as it was the most defended citadel in Cyrodiil. The boy was later healed by the local priests, and a few alchemists, who, too had been forced from their homes following the initial Altmeri incursion; the process, he was told, took around three months, in which, he was described as feverous, and wracked with occasional, but violent spasms of the body. The man told me how he was taken in by the very same priests that restored him to health, and was taught the ways of the Restoration School of Magic whilst he remained in the city, which he did until the famous 'Battle of the Red Ring' In 4E 174, though, he described a notable change in his demeanour and mentality, he was more unruly, prone to bouts of anger, and, on nights when both Masser and Secunda were at thir fullest, occasional fevers, nightmares, and pains, though he, along with the priesthood, simply affirmed that these changes were due to the boy beginning to enter his pubescent state.

During the initial push out of the Imperial City during the 'Battle of the Red Ring', in which our courageous and noble Emperor, Titus Mede II led the charge towards the Dominion's forces, which, obviously has served as a cornerstone of military stratagem ever since it's execution, the young boy fled the city, fearing another attack imminent, though I was told he regrets this decision, as most of the refugees were safely evacuated regardless. He then recollects that he spend the remainder of the year mostly alone, occasionally encountering other refugees and travellers, whom he would briefly stay with and, as he said, "Eat their food.", then continue on alone.

The man's description of his initial childhood transformation in 4E 175, at around twelve years of age, does not unfortunately contain much detail other than an acute, inescapable agony, as his mind seemed to have repressed such a memory, and so we can assume that it was not at all pleasant, though, subsequently, he did describe 'The whims of the Beast' as a child, he communicated unto this author, that at all times, he could, and can feel the beast's hunger, which in turn affects his own, he describes it as "That slither of conscious thought that always seems to come up with warped and disturbing thoughts, but altered to that of an imprisoned, feral, and seemingly starved beast that wills to be free; it is so much so differentiated in your mind from any sort of rational thought, that you surmise that it is, in fact, a separate being and personality, likely in attempt to thrust the guilt, disgust and self-loathing onto these recesses in lieu of hating yourself, which inevitably fails regardless, as the more you attempt to fight it, the more weary and pained your mind becomes." This odd man then admitted to me that as a child, he spoke to this 'Separate being and personality', likening it to an imaginary friend that constantly pressures you into misdeeds, due to his loneliness whilst wandering Cyrodiil, though he did say that 'The Beast', as he names this part of 'his' mind, was far tamer as a child, to which he attributes this as a result of 'The Beast's' newly found existence.

Whilst wandering around the outskirts of Chorrol, he came across a Monk who lived in what was left of the Weynon Priory, he was described to me as an older man, of fifty or sixty, who had a distinctly kind sense about him, as he offered to let the boy stay with him for a while, to which he agreed, wishing to tell the Monk of his troubles in the hopes he could uncover more answers; and so he told him of all of it, "Crying at least four separate times." he had said, with a laugh, which still to me seemed unnerved. The Monk simply told him that he would look through the remainder of the priory's extensive library to see if he could find anything in conjunction with the ailments the boy possessed, which, he must have uncovered, the man told me, as the Monk attempted to kill the boy in his sleep, apologising as he did, oddly, the man told me that the Monk did, indeed plunge the dagger into the boy's chest, though he assumes 'The Beast' gained control, as when he regained consciousness, he was on the verge of the Black Road, body and teeth covered with slightly dried blood, which he told me that he "Couldn't tell whether the blood was my own, as he pierced my lung, which had somehow just about healed, bar a slight shortness of breath and pain in my chest, or the Monk's."

On that rather morbid note, he declined to share any further details on his travels, as he deemed them "Inconsequential and 'Not worth telling'.", And so I asked if he would elaborate on the nature of 'The Beast', his transformations, and everything of that ilk, which he acquiesced promptly, and thus, I shall divide the following into a few sections:

**'The Beast':**

Now, as already explained, 'The Beast' is, in his eyes, a Lycanthrope's more depraved and bestial urges, which the mind struggles to comprehend and usually foists a separate personality upon them, and yes, I acknowledge that this mentality will certainly differ from Lycanthrope to Lycanthrope, I am using the subject of this book as a proverbial 'Base-line', if you will, characteristics, of which the common Lycanthrope derive. The man told me that 'The Beast' is always there, and refuses to be pushed deeper into his mind, and thus remains at the forefront, he said that "I am always one day away from completely breaking; from finally submitting and giving in to the 'Whims of the 'Wolf'', on certain days, these urges and dark ideas scream so loudly and suddenly at me that I am powerless to resist them, and, even if I indulge in them, it changes nothing. 'The Beast ' is always hungry, always thirsts for blood and for flesh. It knows I'm fighting an uphill battle. It knows I am going to lose." he then describes the power that the wilds and the Moons have over him, telling me that the woodlands makes 'The Beast' 'lick its' lips' in anticipation, as it knows the creatures that roam such lands would be easy prey, and so "Fights even harder for dominance". He also states that 'The Beast' "Is a Vain and Proud monster, that does not know when to falter; when to quit, it always tries to kill bigger and more dangerous creatures or, Gods forbid, people. ", it is a creature that oftentimes does not wish the man to claim his prey when he occasionally hunts for food, and again, tries to assume control. The Moons are interesting as exceptions to 'The Beast's' usual nature, as the man seemed to find it difficult to describe why the Moons force a transformation upon him, and so, he came up with a pair of suggestions: 'Perhaps the Moons, due to their presence and prominence during the Daedric Lord of the Hunt, Hircine's aforementioned Hunts, they simply serve as a reminder of the glories and excitement of the 'Living Hunt'; a call which no Lycanthrope can abstain from heeding.', he surprisingly suggested that 'Perhaps the idea that Masser and Secunda are two fractals of the corpse of Lorkhan, are the reason for the nature of the unavoidable transformation, as it may be that Lycanthropes transform so eagerly at this time to either lament the death of Lorkhan as the result of Trinimac's supposed 'Hunt' for Lorkhan, which ended with his death, explaining the Lycanthropic tendency to Howl at the Moons, alternatively, it may be a Howl of celebration to honour the Hunt that took place.' Whilst this theory is unlikely, it shows that this man is fairly learned, which goes against some unfounded beliefs that Lycanthropes are extremely unintelligent due to their affliction. 

**The Enhancement of the Senses and Body:**

The man also conferred that there were other qualities of Lycanthropy that, too, could be both a hindrance, or an aid in certain situations, these were mostly limited to the senses and the body, in that many of his attributes, he told me, were enhanced, he told me first of his senses, that his eyesight was fairly remarkable,that he could notice finer details of people and objects from far away, which he said aided his aim with a bow greatly, he can apparently see acutely in the dark, as well, as his eyes seem to, as he put it: "Adjust to the dark far quicker and with greater strength and clarity than is normal." His sense of smell has also been heightened due to his Lycanthropy, which he joked can be a burden when faced with more unpleasant smells, though, for tracking animals and people, it is a boon, as he can take in and differentiate, and isolate certain smells to be able to follow them. His Hearing has also been greatly improved, according to his own words he can "Hear soldiers clashing swords in a completely different hold, when the time is right, and there is near silence, which there never is." He said, again that it is useful for tracking occasionally, but as a downside times of reflection and peace are scarce as he imparted that he could hear "Tiny mites wriggling under this very floor, a man shouts profanities about Dark Elves down the street, I can hear my body's machinations whirring and churning, everything, for me, there's no peace, at this point it's just a matter of trying to block it out, which can be difficult." He briefly remarked that his sense of touch is also improved, in the sense that he can feel the minute, finer details of certain things such as animal tracks, he subsequently implored that he was no Hunter, sounding slightly surprised that he attributed all of his enhanced senses as Hunting aids, then continued, saying due to his acute sense of touch, the cold is all the more deadly for him.

Now, onto the physicalities of his Human self; He told me of his speed, that his legs can push him faster and farther than that of a Deer or Elk, if he tries, and that all-around, his body is far stronger than one would assume, that likely extends to all physical activities involving muscular activity. Interestingly, he told me that he is able to hold his lungs far longer than average individual, with the exception of Argonians, which he surmised as the idea that all of his organs are stronger than usual to withstand the pressures and strain of the Lycanthropic Transformation, of which, I shall provide insight into in the following section.

**The Lycanthropic Transformation:**

 The 'Lycanthropic Transformation', is an odd and difficultly described phenomena; though, fortunately, the subject of this book indeed provided clarification on his experiences before, during, and after a Transformation.

He began by stating that whilst the forced transformations during the Full Moons are indeed at a set period in time, around seven or eight at night, just as the Moons reach their fullest, he could, theoretically, transform at any time, as 'The Beast' constantly wills to be free, and if, one can surmise, he were to give in to these demands, he would indeed transform. On the catalysts of the transformations, he has encountered transformations due to mental factors such as high levels of anger, stress, or fear, physical factors such as intense pain, or the feeling that he is close to death, which seems to be an act of self-preservation, which I shall provide insight into later on. The day of the transformations, he described a sensation of anticipation from 'The Beast', and that his senses are "Set aflame.", and that 'The Beast' is at its' loudest, "Howling, snarling and clawing at my mind to free itself", it is, he described, as if 'The Beast' is in a frenzied state, which, oddly enough is useful for the stranger as it is an indicator that a change is imminent. As of late, however, he told me of the cunning of 'The Beast', in his words: "'The Beast' knows that I use it's behaviour as an indicator, so now it has resolved to remaining as quiet within my mind as it can, like a Hunter stalking its' Prey, Ironic, I suppose. So now it is far more difficult to tell; I have to judge by the Moons' formation, and the passing of the days; it has taken me by surprise more than once, and others have paid the price for my idiocy."

Directly before the transformation, it seems, as concurrent with several sources, he feels a great pain in his chest, which has been discovered by fellow Author Varnard Karessen, to be the swelling of the heart, then, everything else begins to share an even worse excruciating pain, he told me that he is unable to accurately depict the pure scale of the pain he faces during a transformation, it is said that he can feel all of his organs being stretched and moved, and he told me that he is often unable to breathe or speak during the transformation as his throat expands before his head and neck does, stopping the air to his lungs, and that his teeth often puncture the top and bottom of his mouth. He regales that during this time, his eyes bulge and feel as if they would burst in searing pain, as his 'new' eyes become accustomed to the world; 'The Beast's' mentality and his are 'forced' together, until his mentality abruptly ceases, and 'The Beast' asserts dominance.

It should be noted that whilst the man's Human Mentality cannot truly recollect the entire series of events during his Lycanthropic State, fragments are said to eventually reveal themselves through blurred memory and nightmares, owing to a profound lack of sleep. He found it challenging to divulge the difference between his Lycanthropic State, and his Human State, and thus put it rather simply; "At this exact moment in time, I am myself, In control, just about, when I change, I am an animal, I am 'The Beast', and it is me, the 'weak' Human form's ideologies and mentalities are completely disregarded; and that moment, you can liken it to that of a usual Wolf, they Hunt, they Eat, they Sleep, that for the most part, is how it is."  

He then began talking of a darker topic, of times when he felt he had no point, no way out; that he did not deserve to live, he spoke of his longing for death to ensure the safety of others, and how his attempts to end his own life were foiled again, and again by 'The Beast', he had this to say: "When I tear open my wrists, 'The Beast' makes me change, when I tie a noose around my neck, 'The Beast's' weight snaps the rope, when I jump from a large height, 'The Beast' forces me to change in the middle of my fall, and takes the force for me. It's a selfish creature that doesn't want to die. It fears death, I think, even though it knows it will spend an eternity with Hircine if it dies, perhaps it fears Hircine, perhaps it keeps me alive simply to spite me, maybe it actually cares for me and does not wish me to die. It won't let me die." He then told me that his only hope now was to either find a cure before it was too late, or hope that a stronger warrior or Hunter can bring him down.

On this dark note, he queried me on topics I shall not make known, and left soon after.

My dear friends, If ever I have requested something of you, it is petty compared to this: If you know of any cures or knowledge that may help this poor individual, I beg of you, help him out.

I've heard he's begun to make a name for himself in the lands pf Skyrim, so please, aid him if you are both willing and able.

**The End**


	2. The Frost Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed with newly-provided knowledge, Cain begins his journey for salvation.

The frost tore into Cain's skin, and remained there like the grasp of a firm hand, indeed, he had always hated the cold, never truly acclimatising himself to it, to further the extent of his discomfort, the entire City of Windhelm exhumed an icy and unwelcoming demeanour for any who were not of Nordic blood, similarly to Black Marsh, he thought, Windhelm's environment seemed to possess the sole purpose of driving any outsiders away from it, and thus, he longed for the warmer climates of the Rift and the Tundra of Whiterun, which he had briefly journeyed through on the way to Windhelm.

Cain endeavoured to disregard the biting winds, and focus on his recently acquired knowledge; his search for the Author, Leotelli had indeed bore fruit, as the man had provided him the location of someone who may be able to aid him in his plight; Giruad Gemane of the Bards' College in Solitude, a place he had not yet visited, but had heard of due to it's position as the Imperial Capital of Skyrim. Leotelli had also provided him with a copy of his newest book, 'Olaf and The Dragon', to be delivered to Gemane, a price which Cain gladly excepted, as he saw it as a small matter compared to the potential of the knowledge he could possess.

The mountainous Iron-cast doors into, and out of Windhelm were stiff with ice, but with enough force yielded and granted him passage to the great stone bridge that, too, was equally cloaked in ice. He knew that travelling at night was foolish, but chose to continue regardless, as he was eager to make haste to Solitude as soon as was possible, though the night air continued to provide torrents of pure, freezing white, prompting Cain to hold his cloak closer to his chest. Whilst stumbling across the bridge, he had noticed a few guards had been observing him with cautious eyes, "They think I'm an Imperial Spy, no doubt." he wondered to himself, trying to hear their murmurings over the wind; whilst he could not discern much, he heard one talking to another about mead, "Typical." he thought. Once he had finally reached the end of the bridge, he was left to gaze at the black sky, illuminated by wonderful steaks of divine light, fortunately for him, the Moons were in their Waning Gibbous phase, though still, he felt 'The Beast' tearing trough his mind, trying to goad him into submission, it wanted to run far into the forests surrounding Windhelm, as usual, it wanted to Hunt. "Shut up." He muttered audibly the creature, "I am in control.", he stated.

Cain glanced longingly at the carriage, wishing nothing more than to have a simple ride, he had the coin, of which he had accrued over twenty years of odd jobs, and never having much use for spending it, other than for food, drink, and a warm bed, not that sleep welcomed him, as he was constantly plagued by depraved and graphic splinters of 'The Beast's' Hunts, forbidding him from a restful sleep, but no, Cain knew better than to trust his own whims, he knew that carriages irked 'The Beast', and that he was far more likely to lose control if he travelled by one; yet another damning thing caused by his affliction, and as a result could barely feel his feet, due to pain and frost, when he entered warmth, his feet emitted a foul, rotted smell, and the soles of his feet had been torn and split through years of travel, and, regardless, he was forced to endure, lest more blood was spilled.

In the end, he decided to follow the Jorgrim River towards Dawnstar, hoping that the dense forests to the left of him would act as a shield from the brunt of the iced storms that erupted constantly throughout Eastmarch; he had planned to find a place to stop during the journey, but found no such respite, and so, his only choice was to continue along the roads, heeding the various road signs and symbols until he reached his destination. When he had reached the road in close proximity to the mountains that encircled Winterhold, most of the forested areas had all but subsided allowing the wind to push through with all their terrible fervour, Cain's eyes stung profusely as the sharp slithers of ice pelted them, threatening to tear a hole in his head, forcing him to stoop low as to match the height of the broken cobbled walls that surrounded the edges of the now disappearing roads, despite his superior eyesight, he could barely make out the path due to a mix of pain, impatience, and the cloak of white the forced itself deep across the Pale, as he continued to stagger along, he faintly glimpsed an expanse of dark blue that he surmised to be the infamous Sea of Ghosts, where many a ship has altogether ceased to exist, he vehemently defied this train of thought; he was not going to die now, not when he finally had a chance. All the while, he barely realised he was still advancing, his head was numb, he thought he felt one of his fingers break off entirely, in the dark-but still Human depths of his mind, he had begun to doubt himself: How foolish he was for journeying in the night, he believed, no  _knew_ this was to be his downfall-

The pain came knifing through his very core, threatening to burst his heart, this detestable sensation was one he knew well;

_The Beast was breaking free._

"No! Not now you-" Cain was stopped in his protest by a wracking spasm that almost forced him to his knees, he knew what was happening, 'The Beast' was going to keep him alive, a sentiment that he, too shared, though he dared not to succumb to the transformation, not when he was so close to Dawnstar, 'The Beast' would be drawn to the place like a moth to a bloodied flame, he could not risk it, but even so, he heard 'The Beast' begin to thrash even deeper at his mind and body,  _'It will be free',_ came its' savage, starved growl. Cain could no longer feel the cold, which terrified him, as it meant that his blood was beginning to boil and prepare itself for it's superior form; he could no longer tell where he was, whether he was in motion, all of that was insignificant, he was trapped within his mind, screaming and begging, doing everything in his power to deny the monster its' dominance it so craved, he needed to bring himself back to the cold, to the pain, to experience that which the Wolf was rendering defunct.

He needed to feel pain.

Not pain that stemmed from 'The Beast', no, he needed to feel physical and external pain, to break him from his mid-forged prison, though he had no way of knowing how far into the transformation he was, and so he tried to force himself into the broken cobbles of the ancient road walls, which proved a challenge as his sense of physical existence had began to fade, though he had not yet felt his eyes burst and his throat rendered useless, which meant he was still in the beginning stages of the metamorphosis, "Time is irrelevant." he thrashed, exhaustion already overthrowing him, Cain voiced his indignation with the last of his strength, "We'll die before you win! You are nothi-" A searing pang of white-hot suffering speared itself through his head, causing 'The Beast' to recoil slightly, and ensue a barrage of feral noise, then, it all ceased.

Blackness.

The Void.


	3. The Emergence of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dawn rises, but shall Cain rise alongside it?

The Void was a place of nothing, it signalled the death of conscious thought and existence, binary of a permanent loss of consciousness, or a temporary lapse. Perhaps, if the void is this, it cannot be the Void in which Sithis dwells, and thus is merely a place conceived of the mind.

The Void, then, in this sense, is unconsciousness.

Cain's first blurred thought was that of terror, which then gave way to a more rational thought: "Where am I?", he felt a profound exhaustive weight settled upon him, likely the result of his strenuous battle against his Feral Aggressor; he allowed his mind to subsume into calmness, wherever he was currently, he was warm, relatively dry, and fairly comfortable, and so, he resolved to gather up the strength to open his eyes, and was welcomed with a dimly-lit but cosy room, distinctly comprised of wood, but insulated enough that the cold seemed a distant memory, it seemed he was laying on a bed, with a sheepskin cover draped tightly over him, beside him, an oak bedside table with a battered volume that read on its' spine: 'The Black Arts on trial, by Hannibal Traven, Archmagister of the Mages Guild'. whilst he was taking in his newly-encountered surroundings with a naïve curiosity, another sensation came to him; that of smell, it was meat, distinctly Cow, with a hint of Lamb that filled his nose so potently he could not help allowing his mouth to water at the prospect of such a delectable meal, as he had, for the most part of a month, been living of a diet of vegetables, and either undercooked or burnt meat that he himself had cooked, and in any case, the culinary arts were not his forte in the slightest, much to his deep envy of 'The Gourmet', arguably Tamriel's greatest chef.

A jarring scraping of cutlery from across the building had now reached his ears, "Ah, so I'm not deaf then." He confirmed to himself, which was followed by a cacophony of voices, each enamoured with their own conversations and problems, and due to this mixture, it seemed he was, indeed, situated within an Inn. Cain attempted to arise from his bed but was cut short by deep pains found within his muscles, rendering mobility a marked challenge, and so, he lay, fully aware, but unable to move, much to his frustration.

Cain heard his stomach call forlornly to the food he had smelt moments prior; 'The Beast' hungered too, for the same food, but also something far more substantial, to which Cain scoffed; he was warm, calm, and collected now, the only reason 'The Beast' was able to wrest control from him was because he was panicked, in pain, and damn cold, and so now, his will, whilst still drained, was far stronger than before.

As he lay, stewing in his thoughts, a woman's voice could be heard amongst the background noise, "Thoring, do you remember the time when that wolf pack came clamouring into town?", the mention of a Wolf piqued his interest slightly, not out of some 'mystical sense of brotherhood' or anything idiotic like that, but because he found it surprising that a pack of wolves would venture into a Town so brazenly, and so, curious, allowed the conversation to continue: "How could I forget?" Came a gruff male voice, who's speech had a traditional Nordic accent, of which he had heard so much of during his occasional visits to Bruma to see his cousins in his youth, "That old Alpha Male almost took of my leg.", he continued, "Never did find out why they came sprawling into town like that." Replied the original instigator of the conversation, to which the Male, who Cain inferred to be named 'Thoring' retorted, "Animals in the Pale don't need a reason to attack Dawnstar. It's just their nature." "So that confirms it, I made it to Dawnstar then?" Murmured Cain, silently agreeing with Thoring about the nature of animals, though to an even further extent. 

After a few minutes had passed, and Cain had had his fill of observing the Inn's various patrons, including what sounded to be a Dark-Elf Priest, based on the gruff but affluent inflection he bore, a Nord man, presumably Thoring, entered his room with all the subtlety of a bloated Mammoth, saying: "Ah! You're awake then, good. How do you feel?" "I've been... better, I suppose.... what.. happened?" Cain voiced, confused as to how he got here. Fortunately, Thoring provided him with both answers, and food, telling him that Erandur, whom Cain supposed was the Dunmer priest he had heard, had spotted him on the road, convulsing, when he was investigating a small roadside ruin close-by, and brought him back to Dawnstar.

Cain, not one to seem ungrateful, asked to speak to the priest, to thank him, and so Thoring beckoned Erandur over, whilst Cain was transfixed in the consumption of a tender leg of Lamb, and so barely noticed the priest enter, who spoke: "It is good that you are recovering, my son, were it not for the grace of Lady Mara, you would have surely perished.", Erandur waited for him to finish his meal, which only took a few moments due to his ravenous hunger, mildly satiating himself, but furthering 'The Beast's' appetite; "I... Thank you for what you did, It is greatly appreciated, but... what is it that you saw of me?" Came Cain's cautious query, to which Erandur asked him to clarify the question, "What did you _see?_   What was 'I' _doing?_ _"_ Asked Cain, his suspicion beginning to rise, for if this priest knew of his nature, surely- "I simply saw that you were writhing in pain, to the point of near unconsciousness." Affirmed the priest, then followed with: "If I may, do you believe in Lady Mara, in her benevolence?" to which Cain denied, saying, "No, not really, I don't really believe that any of the Divines function in the way people think they do, I... well, I'd like to believe, but they simply do not seem to hear me.", Erandur sighed, then told Cain that his deliverance was nothing short of a miracle, to which Cain simply remarked: "Perhaps", and at this, the priest bid him farewell, and left to journey elsewhere around the town.

It was at this point, Cain attempted to move again, but was faced with the same luck as before, and to worsen things, the local Bard had begun to sing again, and to Cain, she was not the most 'talented' singer, as she seemed so proud of telling the other patrons, Cain groaned in exasperation and annoyance, and was met with Thoring, once more, who said: "My daughter is talented, huh?" much to Cain's ironic amusement, and simply muttered "Sure.", Thoring, obviously one to keep track of his patrons questioned "So, I'm supposing that you were traveling up to Dawnstar and collapsed, am I right?" "Yeah... that's right." Confirmed Cain, who managed the strenuous task of turning in his bed, "Where you headed next then, if you don't mind my 'askin?" "I do mind," Began Cain, "But, well, I headed up here from Whiterun, and I'm going up to Winterhold, you see." He lied; he did not want anyone to be able to track him, especially not after taking such a risk as following Adonato's instructions, Thoring interjected, saying "There 'ain't much up there, except those Wizards, you thinking of applying to the College, then?" "Yes," Came Cain's answer, "Something like that."

Thoring later left Cain to his rest, saying that it was required if he wanted to begin to move again, something that Cain vehemently desired; he was rather impatient, he wanted nothing more than to get to Solitude, and speak to Gemane.

_Blood._

_Flesh._

_Death._

_The forest was lit up by crimson Moons, filled full of all the blood spilled during the hunt, the trees were warped and infinite, ensuring a skilled hunter could pounce from tree to tree, and rend the flesh from their prey._

_On the ground, it lurks, its' footfalls heavy, but cautious; it knows it must wait, and so it shall._

_Its' prey is close now, closer than before, it has tracked it through the forest, revelling in its' primal terror._

_A glimpse is made, the prey looks weak, but fast._

_The anticipation begins to gnaw at the Hunter._

_It cannot wait any longer._

_The prey notices, and flees into the Moonlight._

_A chase?_

_Good._

_The Hunter pursues its' quarry, weaving in and out of the labyrinthine woodland._

_The adrenaline fuels it._

_The Hunt becomes it._

_The prey falters, and turns._

_It cannot confuse the Hunter._

_The Hunter is cunning._

_It moves to intercept its' prey, but chooses not to kill it._

_Not yet._

_A taste is all that is required._

_The blood is potent and sweet._

_It allows the prey to run ahead, furthering its' anticipation._

_The prey knows there is no escape._

_The Hunter knows it is time._

_It brings it's claws down upon its' hind, crushing it to the ground._

_It cannot escape, now._

_It screams._

_It wails._

_It is devoured._

 

Cain awoke screaming.

The Beast awoke Howling.

 

 

 


End file.
